Mistletoe and Mysteries
by Book girl fan
Summary: My entries for Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness 2016!
1. Thin Ice

**The first day of Hades Lord of the Dead's December Challenge of Awesomeness! Yay! Hopefully this year, I'll actually be able to finish it!**

 **Prompt from I'm Nova: The ice was too thin to bear Holmes' weight. (Thank you so very much to KnightFury for inspiring this and allowing me to use it).**

The ice was too thin to bear Holmes' weight. It cracked, snapping beneath him and sending the detective plunging into the dark depths of the lake.

"Holmes!" Watson cried. He scrambled out onto the ice, heedless of the danger. His feet slipping beneath him, he ran towards the dark gash marring the pristine surface; as he came closer, he could already see ice reforming around the edges, crystals as pale and fragile as glass gathering around the edges of the hole. They were encroaching the hole on all sides - except where Holmes' gloved hands were clinging onto the icy edge.

Watson grabbed Holmes's hands, already soaked through and freezing from their encounter with the frigid water, and pulled. The ice creaked beneath him. Slowly, Watson pulled Holmes out of the lake, continuing until they were both sitting, shivering, by the edge of the hole.

Watson got to his feet, holding a hand out for Holmes to take. "Come, my friend. We need to get you home." Holmes, too cold and exhausted to argue, acquisced, and they headed off towards Baker Street and a cosy fireplace, leaving the lake behind them.

In the freezing cold of this December night, it would take only minutes before the lake had frozen over again, leaving no sign of the tragedy that had almost occurred.


	2. Penguins

**Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: If I was a penguin...**

"If I was a penguin," Watson mused, "this cold weather would be far more tolerable. As is, I would much prefer to be somewhere more tropical for the winter season."

Holmes glanced up from where he was studying one of his record books. "I would have thought you'd had more than enough of the tropics in India."

"For once, Holmes, your deduction has fallen through." Watson smiled teasingly at his friend. "If anything, India has made me miss the warm weather. I do enjoy the snow, but this dreary rain and hail is tiring!"


	3. Hot Chocolate for a Cold Night

**Today's prompt from cjnwriter: Chocolate covered _(fill in the blank)_ This may not be exactly what you had in mind, but hopefully you like it!**

Wayne triumphantly held up a brown, soggy piece of gingerbread. 'Look! It's chocolate covered!" He took a bite, and his eyes widened. "It tastes even better!"

The other Irregulars clustered around the chocolate pot, dipping their biscuits and gingerbread in and exclaiming at the chocolaty flavour.

"It's delicious!"

"I've never had chocolate before. It tastes so good!"

"Everything tastes better with chocolate, dummy!"

"Hey! I'm not a dummy!"

Mrs Hudson broke up the brewing argument, coming in between and taking the chocolate pot from the middle of the mass of Irregulars. "Children! Chocolate is for drinking, not dunking biscuits in. You'll get crumbs through the chocolate!"

Suitably chastened, the Irregulars quietened down, looking penitently down at the floor. "Sorry, Mrs Hudson," they chorused.

She nodded firmly. "Good. Now sit down quietly and finish your hot chocolate. And no more chocolate covered biscuits!"


	4. Taking One for the Team

**Today's prompt from Sparky Dorian: Taking one for the team. Uh, I'm not in a happy mood, so you might not like this one.**

"No!" Watson pushed Holmes out of the path of the knife, both stumbling and falling to the cobbled pavement with the force of the push. Their attacker, still just a youth and only wanting their money, ran, fearful of the consequences of his rash action.

Holmes pushed himself to his feet. "Come, Watson, that wasn't necessary. I am an expert in baritsu, remember; I would have disarmed him before he managed to strike again." He held out a hand for Watson.

"I suppose I - was taking one- for the team, then." Watson stumbled over his words, interrupted by harsh gasps for air. He reached for Holmes' hand, then cried out in pain.

Holmes immediately crouched to the street behind him, heedless of the street water seeping into his pants. "Watson! Watson, are you injured?"

Watson's arm, which had been clenched around his stomach, loosened, the dark red of blood showing dully in the light from the street lamps. "I'm afraid so, Holmes."

Holmes swore. "I will see that menace dead for this!"

Watson gathered his strength and barked, "Holmes!"

Holmes' attention swung back to him.

"Later. Right now, I - need you to - go for help." Holmes began to protest, but Watson interrupted. "Now. I need help - now."

"Very well." He took Watson's hand and gripped it tightly. "But you stay awake, Watson. You must still be here when I return."

Watson smiled slightly. "I will be here." A look passed between them, conveying everything they did not say.

Holmes squeezed Watson's hand a final time, then stood. Without a backwards glance, he left, hoping his friend would last until his return.


	5. Plenty of Children Nonetheless

**Today's prompt from I'm Nova: Mrs. Hudson might have never physically given birth, but she has plenty of children.**

Mrs Hudson has never given birth, never raised a child up from a baby, but she has plenty of children.

There's Sherlock, her oldest. He often makes a mess, comes and goes at all hours of the night, and has a terrible habit of staining her chin. Yet somehow, when she is having a day when everything seems to go wrong, without fail he will play her favourite song on his violin, and the world seems a little bit brighter.

John is her darling, the one who always brings her flowers on her birthday, the one to provide her with some comfort against the aches and pains of growing old. Some days, though, when the memories of Mary grew too heavy, she is the one to provide comfort to him, sitting down to remember the beautiful young woman they both loved so much.

Mary, Mary was her sweet daughter. From the moment she'd heard that Mary had grown up without a mother, she knew that she would look after this girl like she was her own. Mary was the one who came to her for advice about setting up her own household, to show her some pretty thing she had found at the markets, or to sit and chat for a while. Mary's funeral, seeing the wasted form of the bright and strong young woman she knew, had been nearly as painful as her dear Robert's death, many years before.

Of course, the Irregulars are her children too: recruited by Sherlock to help with cases, but as children, they need more than that. They need someone to bring hot chocolate to warm them against the cold, to tuck their mittens on tightly so they don't get lost, and to tell them they are wonderful, brave children, but could they please be careful tonight?

No, Mrs Hudson has never had a baby of her own, never felt that life growing within her. That is one gift she and her Robert never shared. Nevertheless, she has plenty of children, and though they may not call her mother, she loves them as her own.


	6. Seasons' Greetings from Irene

**Today's prompt from I'm Nova: Irene Adler sends season's greetings to Baker Street 221B. Sorry it took so long, but it refused to come out as anything but a poem.**

My dear Holmes, season's greetings!

And I hope the doctor is well too.

I know at our first meeting,

He always stayed by you.

We are very happy here,

Living in Paris,

This is my favourite time of year,

With the pretty Christmas trees.

I wish you well this year to come,

And to you both good fortune.

Sending this, with my love,

Signed, Irene Norton


	7. White Stallion

**Thank you Spockologist for your review! I'm sorry I haven't replied, but I appear to be blocked? Still, I'm very glad you liked it.**

 **Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: a white stallion.**

It walked slowly towards them, its white coat gleaming against the gloomy night. Power and majesty was in its every step as it made its way closer and closer.

Holmes and Watson stood still, feeling the quiet that had descended on the scene. Even the birds has stopped fluttering, the entire forest holding its breath as it waited for something to happen.

The horse stopped, just close enough to touch. This close, they could see the blood encrusted around its shining hooves.

"I do believe we have found our murderer," Holmes murmured, not willing to disturb the quiet of the scene.

Watson reached a hand out towards the horse, gently stroking down its soft nose, then across its back and down the legs. At this last motion, the horse flinched, prancing a few paces to one side and looking at them warily. "And you were right, Lord Warburton was trying to maim it. All to ward off his wife's imaginary lover." He coaxed the horse closer again by way of an apple brought from his pocket. "What shall we do, Holmes?"

"Lord Warburton is dead, and therefore cannot possibly want the horse. Lady Warburton is terrified of them. It seems justice would let us leave the horse here." Holmes allowed a very slight smile. "I think it will be well taken care of."

Watson patted the horse on the back, then stepped away. The horse huffed, shook its mane, then turned, disappearing back into the early morning gloom of the forest.


	8. Mary's Treasure

**Today's prompt from I'm Nova: Mary's biggest treasure**

Mary Watson has many treasures in her life.

Some of them are small treasures, like the way John smiles when he's had a good day at his practice, or the flowers in her windowsill that are blooming so prettily. When a cake comes out of the oven just right, and she knows that it will taste delicious.

Some of them are bigger than that, more important. Like the earrings passed down from her deceased mother. Like that feeling when Sherlock and John come home from a case, safe and sound. Like visiting with Mrs Hudson and trying a new recipe together. Like that Christmas party at Scotland Yard, when all the officers took turns to come up and earnestly tell her how much they appreciated her husband's presence on cases.

More than anything else, she treasures those lazy evenings at home, when she and John, and sometimes Sherlock if they can convince him, stay in and talk, sharing stories and lives by the light of the fire. Moments like those carry her through the darker days, the ones where she wonders if sending her husband off with Sherlock might be the last time she ever sees him, if she would always feel this useless just sitting at home and waiting.

Now, though, she might have something new to treasure. She pats her stomach, smiling softly, imagining the bump that will soon be there. This may turn out to be her biggest treasure of all.


	9. A Decorating Treat

**Today's prompt from I'm Nova: The Irregulars receive an unexpected treat. This one was being very stubborn, so the quality may have suffered as a result.**

The Irregulars clustered at the front door of 221 Baker Street, eagerly awaiting Holmes' arrival. He had said today would be a special day, and they all anticipated a brand new case, with plenty for them to investigate.

Mrs Hudson opened the door. "Come on in, boys. Mr Holmes is upstairs. The doctor's not up yet, so do try to stay quiet."

As the Irregulars trooped through the upstairs door, Holmes was sitting before the fire, waiting for them. "Now, Irregulars," he said, looking at them seriously. "There is something very important I need you for today."

"Is it a new case, Mr 'Olmes?" Little Sam asked, and was hastily shushed by the others.

"No, not this time. This time...we are decorating." He gestured grandly to the boxes stacked up behind him, bright colours and bristly boughs just visible peeking through the top.

The boys' mouths opened in astonishment. "It's like a shop in here!" Wayne exclaimed.

Big Sam nodded enthusiastically. "One of the real pretty ones!"

Holmes let them have a moment to admire the decorations, then brought their attention back to him. "This is a task to be undertaken with the greatest secrecy and silence. No shouting, and certainly no one is to wake Dr Watson." He gazed sternly over all of them, and they nodded their assent. They all like the doctor, and if Holmes said not to wake him, they'd well make sure they didn't.

The decorating commenced. Ivy was hung from windows and mantels, and decorated with small ornaments and gingerbread men. Popcorn and cranberry strings were strung wherever the children could reach. Even Holmes' experiments were decorated, with a tiny ribbon tied neatly on each test tube!

Finally, all strings were strung, ivy was hung, and the whole room had a proper Christmas feel. The decorators, pleased with their work, were eating Mrs Hudson's generously provided refreshments, when footsteps began coming down the stairs. "Holmes, why did you let me sleep so late? The Irregulars were coming-" Dr Watson came into the room, and stopped short. He looked around the room, taking in all the decorations, and everything that had been done. Finally, his gaze rested on the Irregulars, biscuits still in hand. "Did you do all this?"

"Mr 'Olmes told us to," Little Sam said in his piping voice. "Do you like it?"

Watson smiled, taking one more admiring glance around the room. "I do like it, very much."


	10. Puppies

**Today's prompt from Sparky Dorian: Puppies. Now I'm all up to date!**

The box was sitting by the side of the street, battered and drooping. The muffled whimpers coming from inside could barely be heard over the clatter of traffic and chatter of passers by. No one stopped to hear, no one cared. The box remained by the side of the street, growing more damp and battered by every passing hour.

A nose poked its way out of the box. It was a very small nose, black and wet. It had come out through a small hole in the side, just big enough for it to fit. It sniffed slowly, then retreated back inside.

Then it came out again. This time, the small black nose was followed by a small black face, with big eyes and a mouth with sharp little teeth. The little teeth bit into the side of the hole, gradually widening it. They bit further and further, widening the hole more and more, until the little black nose and the little black face was followed by a little black body, fluffy all over with a little tail curled up at the end.

With its whole body out of the box, the little puppy - for it was a puppy - started exploring the street. It dodged the people, running around their feet and under their skirts, following every interesting smell it could find. It found one particular smell, following it further and further, with more and more attention, until - _bump_ \- the puppy ran right into a pair of shoes.

"What's this?" a voice came from above. A large pair of hands came down around the puppy, lifting it high up into the air. The puppy yipped. This was exciting! He should have left the box a long time ago!

"It's a puppy, Watson, Schipperke most likely. Now, will you put it down? Mrs Hudson has supper waiting for us." That wasn't the same voice. It was a different one, not as friendly. The puppy growled at it.

"It's only a little puppy, Holmes. It will be cold out tonight. Puppies should not be out on the street." That was the same voice, the nice one. The puppy yipped at it again. It liked that voice. "It seems too dirty to belong to anyone. I'll just take it home with us tonight, and tomorrow I can make inquiries."

"Do hurry, Watson. Mrs Hudson will not be pleased if we miss supper again after last week."

The puppy found itself being wrapped in something soft and woollen. It sniffed curiously at the material, but shied away quickly. It smelt odd, something sharp that made its nose itch. Still, it was warm. The puppy cuddled closer, burrowing into the material and starting to drift off to sleep. It had been a long day for the little puppy. Adventures were nice. Maybe tomorrow it could have another one.


	11. Mud

**Today's prompt from Wordwielder: Mud.**

"Mr Holmes!" Mrs Hudson stormed up the stairs, an uncharacteristically fierce frown weighing on her face. She slammed open the door to apartment B, startling Holmes' guest into spilling her drink. "Mr Holmes, this is the third time this week I have had mud traipsed up through my front stairs. This must stop, today!"

Holmes leaped up, headed straight for the stairs. "Where is the mud? Quickly, Mrs Hudson, this could be essential to the case!"

"All the way up my front stairs, Mr Holmes, I just told you that!" she growled. "Do you listen to a word I say, young man?"

Holmes was too occupied to take any notice, his magnifying glass just millimetres away from the muddy stairs. "A curious colour, so dark as to be almost black, and with a very fine consistency. Watson!"

Watson appeared at the top of the stairs, a comforting arm around their very distraught client. "Have you found it, Holmes?"

"Yes, this is it, exactly the clue we needed!" He turned to the young lady. "Miss Gardner, we must leave immediately. I know exactly who killed your uncle, and if I am right, they will kill again. We must be off!"

All three ran down the stairs and out the front door, leaving Mrs Hudson fuming behind them. "Mr Holmes, this better be the last of this, or next time, you will be the one cleaning these stairs!"


	12. Missing Links

**Today's prompt from Sparky Dorian: Missing links. I took a bit of a loose view on it, I hope you don't mind!**

"John? Have you seen my necklace?" Mary called through the house. She waited for a reply, then remembered John was out, staying overnight for a dangerously ill little girl. She sighed. It was always quieter without John here.

She looked for the necklace again, searching through the parlour and the bedrooms, but didn't find it. Perhaps it wasn't really that important, but it was her favourite necklace. She wore it everywhere, and now, not feeling its presence around her neck was unsettling.

Maybe Mr Holmes could help her? It was only a slight thing, but he'd investigated for less. The least she could do, she decided, was ask him. If he was out, or busy on a case, then she would have to accept the necklace was lost.

She made her way to Baker Street, stopping in front of the door just as she had years before. She knocked.

Mrs Hudson opened it, a smile breaking out on her face. "Mary! I didn't expect you today."

Mary accepted the older woman's embrace, following her inside. "I've come to see Mr Holmes, Mrs Hudson. I was hoping to request his help."

"Well, up you go up the stairs, then. He's in right now, just sitting up there with his pipe and his books." She leaned in and said confidentially, "I think he could use the distraction."

Mary went up the stairs as ushered, and entered 221B. Mr Holmes was waiting for her. "Mary."

"Mr Holmes." She stood awkwardly in the doorway. Suddenly this did not seem such a good idea.

"You have a case for me," he said. It wasn't a question. "You've come from home to ask me. Watson isn't home, or you would have asked him instead. Your necklace is missing."

She sat, stunned. Even after all the stories she'd heard from John, and the handful of times she'd seen it herself, Mr Holmes' deductions still left her confused and somewhat awed. "Yes, I lost it this morning, and have no idea where it may be."

"I would try the kitchen counter."

She didn't know what to say.

"You take it off while in the kitchen, possibly due to some notion of propriety, and this time forgot to put it back on again upon leaving," he told her with a smile. "It is likely still there waiting for you."

She thanked him absently, feeling almost disconnected. How had he known that? Almost without thinking, she found herself back at her home. She went inside, and on the kitchen table, just as he had said, lay her necklace.


	13. Disguises

**Today's prompt from Wordwielder: Disguises. Sorry it's so short!**

Watson looked up from his paper to find a bulky stablehand in his living room. "I do say, Holmes, that's the third disguise today! Are you going to use one of these eventually?"

"Of course, Watson!" Holmes said, fiddling with his blond moustache. "All these disguises will eventually be useful, but first I must experiment, to try which ones are best."

"I always believed you just decided them on the spot," Watson said, growing intrigued despite himself.

Holmes looked at him with an affectionate twinkle in his eye. "I didn't know you so well then, dear Watson. I thought it best to preserve some mystery of my profession."

Watson sat back in his chair, a warm feeling rising in his breast. "Carry on then, Holmes. Let's see those disguises."


	14. Contest of Strength

**Today's prompt was from I'm Nova, about how Doyle judged a bodybuilding contest, and a man named Murrary won. I'm really sorry, but writing about real people makes me intensely uncomfortable, so I don't do it. If you'd like to prompt me with something else, I'll happily write that for you, but for now, I hope this will do.**

Today was the day Scotland Yard had been looking forward to all year. This was the day they all got to show off what they could do, holding their annual Contest of Strength. The stage had already been set up in the conference room, the biggest room and the only one able to fit all their police force. For the first time, Holmes and Watson had also come, and Watson had been asked to be one of the judges.

The contestants lined up at the edge of the stage, the judges took their seats, and the contest began. Each contestant showed off their strength, lifting weights and having rope pulls with each other. One by one, they were knocked out, overtaken by a superior opponent, until there were only two left.

Their final challenge was this: to bend a steel bar in half. Gregson went first. He took the bar in both hands, exerting all the pressure he could in his attempt to bend it. Panting, exhausted, he finally released, and looked down at it. The bar was as smooth and straight as ever.

The other contestant stepped forward, a tall young constable named Baker. He picked up the steel bar and began to push. For a moment, it seemed like nothing was happening. Then, millimetre by millimetre, the bar bent, until there was a visible bend in the steel. Baker let go, letting it clatter to the floor while he wiped the sweat from his face.

Applause rang through the room. Baker took a bow, grinning shyly. Watson joined him on the stage, shaking his hand and giving him the medal awarded to the year's winner.

Later that evening, when the room had cleared out for a celebratory drink and Holmes was the only one left, did he smile softly to himself, and bend the bar back into shape.


	15. Timber!

**Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: Timber!**

It was a nasty scuffle. The Irregulars had seen a man coming out of Mrs Hudson's back window, and Wiggins had sent Little Sam upstairs for Mr Holmes before the rest of the group had mobbed the man.

The man, surprised at first, quickly realised he was being attacked and started fighting back. Being much bigger and stronger, he got a few good hits in, but the Irregulars were fast, and they knew how to work together. The fight was a stalemate, with neither side able to fully overcome the other, when Holmes' fist came out of nowhere, landing directly on the man's nose.

The man's eyes widened, then unfocused. He swayed backwards, then forwards again. Finally, he toppled over, his head hitting the ground with a hard smack.

The watching Irregulars cheered. "Timber!"

Holmes leaned down, rifling through the man's pockets. "As you thought, Wiggins. Filled with Mrs Hudson's good silver." He straightened up. "Well done, Irregulars. Wayne, run and find an officer to come take this rubbish" he prodded at the man with his boot, "away. The rest of you, clear out his pockets and bring it all inside. We would not want to distress Mrs Hudson."


	16. Pocket Watch

**Today's prompt from Spockologist: Stolen pocket watch.**

"Holmes," Watson asked without looking, rifling through papers on the desk, "have you seen my pocket watch?"

Holmes was curled up in the armchair like a cat, eyes closed, soaking in the weak winter sunlight. A case had finished just two days ago, and all Holmes' energy had gone with it. "No, Watson. You usually put it in the desk drawer."

"I've already looked, and haven't found it." Still, Watson checked the drawer again, lifting up the medical paraphernalia and souvenirs from cases that had somehow made their way in there. The watch did not show.

Watson slumped down into his chair. "That pocket watch was my brother's. It's all I have left of him."

Holmes' eyes opened, and he looked over at Watson with concern. "Perhaps you should ask Mrs Hudson."

Watson brightened. "Of course! She may have moved it to clean, or something of the like. I'll ask her at once."

As Watson left the room, headed downstairs to talk to Mrs Hudson, Holmes closed his eyes and relaxed into the armchair again. Hopefully Mrs Hudson had had it cleaned by now and wouldn't mind giving it a little early.


	17. Chapel

**Today's prompt from Sparky Dorian: Chapel.**

Light shone through the stained glass window, sending blue and green beams dancing through the small chapel, seen by no one but heaven above. The wooden pews were old but sturdy, worn smooth with generations of kneeling parishioners.

The door was pushed open, and Mary entered, footsteps soft. She knelt in a pew near the entrance, and clasped her hands together. "Our Father," she began, "who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done..."

Her voice shook, and tears sprung to her eyes. "Thy will be done-"

A sob broke out. "Father, I'm afraid. I know I'm not well, and I've been getting worse every day. What if that's Your will? What if I die? I don't want to die! I want to live, grow old with John, raise our child, be happy! I don't want to die so soon! How can that be Your will?"

Mary lowered her head to the pew and wept.

Finally, what seemed like a long time later, she rose her head again, wiping back the tears. "I will have faith," she whispered to herself. She began her prayer again. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Amen."

She stood up, brushed down her skirts, and walked back to the door. Just as she reached it, she stopped, looking back into the small chapel once again. "Goodbye."

The door closed behind her.


	18. Rose-Coloured Glasses

Today's prompt from Riandra: rose-coloured glasses.

His brother has been gone for nearly three years now, and Mycroft knows things are going well. It may have started off a bit dicey, with Moran close on Sherlock's trail, but that trail has gone cold, and Moran is off the scent. According to some trusted contacts, he may even be on his way back to England, where Mycroft himself will be waiting for him.

With Moran caught, and Moriarty's network tracked down and disbanded, Sherlock could even return. Of course, his service to his country could not be shared openly, not yet, but he could see the Watsons again, and return to those little puzzles he so enjoyed. Not that Mycroft can understand why - triflingly easy, most of them, and requiring so much _legwork_ \- but he will not begrudge his brother's happiness after all he has done.

His brother's friends would also be pleased to see him alive again. The deception was regrettable, but also necessary, for Sherlock's wellbeing and their own. If Moran thought them to have any idea where Sherlock could be, he would have stooped to any level to get that information. Instead, Mrs Hudson has been able to live comfortably in her home without needing new lodgers, and the Watsons have moved on with their lives. Their son is two now, he believes, and looked to be growing up quite well last time he visited, though that was some months ago.

Once Sherlock returns, he'll visit again. Maybe at Christmastime. He's never been much for celebrating it himself, but surely the Watsons will, and if anyone can convince his brother to celebrate with them, it will be John and Mary. Sherlock could even finally meet his namesake.

A quiet knock on the door. "Sir, a message for you."

He opens the message, reads its contents. The rose-coloured glasses fall off.

' _Mary Watson's funeral today. Son expected to follow_.'


	19. Icarus

**Today's prompt from Aleine Skyfire: Icarus. I think this one turned out a bit odd.**

Sebastian Moran was not a fanciful man. He didn't hold with curses or legends, fairytales held no sway over him. Yet still, there was one myth he had heard in his childhood and never forgotten.

Icarus, the man who flew towards the sun and fell when the wax melted off his wings.

That myth had stuck with him, a reminder that a man was capable of anything, as long as he had the right materials to get there. Icarus hadn't, falling down when his wings had failed him, but at least he'd tried. Moran also tried, joining the army, rising in the ranks, making his name known. Each time, he had the right materials, he had the ambition, and he succeeded. When he met Moriarty, he became the professor's right hand man, taking on each job the man gave him and succeeding again and again.

Then came Reichenbach. The Professor went over the waterfall, and Moran realised, he was not Icarus: Moriarty had been Icarus all along, reaching for something bigger and greater, and falling when his wings were destroyed.


	20. Crack

**Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: crack.**

 _Crack!_

I looked up from my notebook, alarmed by the sound, to find Holmes staring at his chemistry set with dismay. One of his beakers had cracked, the liquid inside slowly spilling out onto the wooden table.

"Holmes," I asked, "what was in that beaker?"

"A solution I have been working on for weeks," he told me, still staring at the dripping beaker. "I was very close this time, but now my work is ruined. I'll have to start again."

"That's not all that's ruined!" The mess from the beaker had grown bigger and bigger, enough that the table was no longer enough to contain it. "Mrs Hudson will never forgive you if that stains her carpets!"

Hastily, I looked around for something to clean up the liquid with. Holmes had gone one step further, immediately grabbing a nearby teacup and putting it under the table to catch the spill.

"I'm not sure spoiling her china is much better, Holmes!"

Mrs Hudson, seemingly summoned at the reference to her china, came into the room. "Gentlemen! What is this?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs Hudson," Holmes said, with that sincerely charming air he could draw on when needed. "One of my experiments has gone awry, and your china teacup has been damaged."

Mrs Hudson swatted him on the shoulder. "Really, Mr Holmes! There's no need for that, I'm not one of your cases. Fortunately, I learnt my lesson long ago about what you will do to my good china. That was specially bought, just for you, the worst china I could find. For all your deductions, I dare say you hadn't even noticed!"


	21. Fever

**Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: fever.**

Distracted by her baking, Mrs Hudson barely noticed the faint knock on her door. She stopped kneading and listened for the sound to come again. At the second knock, she wiped her floury hands on her apron, and went to open the door, already saying, "Mr Holmes isn't in-"

An Irregular fell through the doorway from where he had obviously been leaning on the door, immediately curling up on the floor of her front hall like an injured animal. "Mrs 'udson," he whimpered, head barely raising from the floorboards, "I don't feel too good."

"Doctor!" Mrs Hudson screamed. She crouched beside the poor boy, hand flying to his forehead. It was burning hot.

Dr Watson came rushing down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the front hall. "The boy?" he asked, already crouching down beside her. "He's very dangerously ill. We need to get him upstairs." He slid his hands under the boy's back and knees, starting to lift him up, then faltering.

"Your shoulder, doctor!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, also rising to her feet.

Watson waved her off with a distracted smile. "It will keep. We need this boy upstairs now." He adjusted his grip, and started up the stairs, Mrs Hudson following behind. Once they arrived, he laid the boy on the lounge, and went to fetch his medical bag.

Mrs Hudson sat beside the boy, one she now recognised as Little Sam. He looked even smaller than usual lying there, face red and sweat beading on his brow. She was just wondering if she should get a cloth to wipe it off when Watson re-entered the room, medical bag in hand.

He checked the boy over, searching for injury or other symptoms, as Mrs Hudson watched, and comforted Sam when he whimpered. Finally, Watson sat back. "It appears to be a very severe strain of the flu. The most worrying symptom is that fever: if we get that down, he should recover."

"My mother always used a cold bath," Mrs Hudson advised, stroking Sam's hair. "Said it froze the fever right out."

"Do you have one here?" Watson asked.

"I've got a tub." She got up, heading for the door. "I'll just go fill it up for you."

The tub wasn't a proper bath, being meant more for washing clothing than people, but Sam was small enough he should fit in. Once it was filled, bucket by bucket, Mrs Hudson called upstairs, "The tub is ready, doctor!" She waited for a few minutes, enough that she began to worry, but finally Watson came in, carrying Sam, and placed the boy in the tub.

Immediately Sam began to thrash, sending water spilling across the room. Watson held on tighter, keeping the boy in the water even as he struck out wildly. Over the next few hours, his thrashing gradually grew weaker and weaker, until he was once again still. Watson felt his forehead. "The fever has broken. He should be alright now."

Watson lifted him out of the tub, then nearly dropped him as his shoulder gave out. Mrs Hudson hurried over. "Dr Watson!" she scolded. "You must be more careful of that shoulder! Here, I'll help you carry him."

Between the two of them, they got Sam upstairs, lying on the lounge as he was before. Mrs Hudson sat down beside him. "I'll stay with him, if you'd like to sleep, Dr Watson."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson, but I wouldn't feel right leaving him alone now." Watson sunk into his usual chair. "Now that the fever's broken, he should recover, but he'll still need a few days until he's up and running around again."

"He can stay with me," Mrs Hudson said. "I could use another pair of hands while baking." She contemplated it, how nice it would be to have a child in the house, someone else there to keep her company and help her with all her holiday baking. It was a pleasant thought.

Eventually, she looked up, curious at the lack of reply, and smiled involuntarily. Watson had fallen asleep in his chair. Tonight, she would watch over both of them.


	22. Surprises

**Today's prompt from Wordwielder: Surprises. I'll be posting a few of these today, as I catch up from being away for Christmas.**

Watson opened the door to his bedroom, then took a sudden step backwards. "Holmes?" he called down the stairs, eyes remaining fixed on what lay within the room, "why is there a python on my pillow?"

Still not daring to take his eyes from the snake, he heard, not saw, Holmes come up the stairs behind him. "This was not me, my dear doctor. All my snakes have remained safely in my room." Holmes made to move closer, but Watson held onto his arm.

"That python can stretch half the length of its body, Holmes," he informed his friend quietly. "I've seen it kill men in Afghanistan. Don't go any closer."

"A python does not end up on your bed by accident, Watson," Holmes told him equally quietly. "I must investigate."

"Very well." Holmes made to move forward again. Watson tightened his grip, stopping him. "Just, please. Be careful."

Holmes laid his hand over Watson's, a promise that needed no words. Watson let him go.


	23. Starry Night

**Today's prompt from Wordwielder: Starry night.**

The stars glowed in the night sky overhead, shining down on the little scene. A couple was walking home through the deserted streets, their little boy clutching their hands as he walked between them. All three of them were smiling in wonder at the beautiful constellations. They were on holiday, far from home, and this was the first time the little boy had ever seen the stars.

He dropped his parents' hands, running ahead with his eyes firmly fixed on the sky, laughing at how the stars stayed the same. His parents slowed down, enjoying his reactions. They had so little time to themselves most days, and even less time outside. This holiday was exactly what they needed.

A quiet whoosh sliced through the air. The man fell to the ground with a choked gasp. His wife screamed, falling to her knees beside him. Their son came running back and was gathered into his mother's arms. The stars looked down on the scene, no longer bright, but cold and distant.

Not far away, in the upper rooms of one of the nearby houses, Moran disassembled his air rifle, packed it into a bag, and left through the back door. He didn't look up to the stars. He didn't need them.


	24. Elements

**Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: Fire, Earth, Air, and Water**

Holmes' world was made up of many elements.

Fire was Mrs Hudson. Not a blazing bushfire, or a small candle flame, but a hearth fire, warm and homely. She was always there to come back to, made 221B a comfortable place for all. Even a hearth fire can bring down a house, though, and when Mrs Hudson brought down her fury about broken china or stained floors, her blaze crackled around the whole room.

Lestrade was Earth; dependable, and always there. With every case, he became more solid and sure, while beneath, strains of silver or gold were waiting to be discovered. One day, there could be something valuable there, but for now, it went beneath the surface, unseen and unknown.

Air was Mary. She was a gust that blew in occasionally, but was always there in the background, unseen but felt. When she came by, she disrupted things, sending Watson off in a tailspin, and

Watson, Watson was Water. Watson was steady, looking calm, but running deep underneath. He was necessary, a soothing presence, and hidden depths. In a moment, still water could be whipped into a storm, dangerous but fascinating, just as Watson was.

Every element Holmes had in his life was an essential part, something needed and necessary. Really, it was elementary.


	25. A Most Unusual Murder

**Today's prompt from Winter Winks 221: a strange and bizarre crime with no obvious solution. I have to say, I enjoyed this one!**

"I must say, Holmes," I said, crouching down and examining the body. "This is quite an unusual crime."

Holmes prowled around the crime scene, sniffing at some things, laying down full length to get a better look at others. "Indeed, Watson. I have not encountered anything quite like this before, nor even have a similar crime in my files. This crime seems to be absolutely unique." He paused his investigations, turning to Watson. "Cause of death, doctor?"

I gestured to the bloody imprint in the skull. "This would be the obvious cause of death, but from the bruising, it seems that this happened post mortem, though very soon after, no more than a few minutes. The actual cause would appear to be strangulation...with this." I pulled a long strand of aluminium off the body, showing it to Holmes.

Holmes looked uncharacteristically surprised. "Tinsel?"

I nodded.

Holmes began to pace across the alley, speaking out loud, as was often his wont when it was just the two of us. "The only inhabitants are the mother and her children, none of whom have the strength required to strangle a man of this size, and besides that, there is only one pair of footsteps besides our victim. The killer is clearly a heavyset man, taller than the average, and," he showed me a strand of white fur, held between his fingers, "wearing a fur coat. This fur is much finer than anything that would be found in this neighbourhood, but the footsteps disappear at the edge of the house, suggesting someone familiar enough with the area that they know a way up."

"This wound is an unusual shape too," I interjected. "At first I thought it had been made by a horse, but if it is, the horse was unshod. There are some small characteristic markings missing."

"I believe, Watson," Holmes said, after a moment of thought, "that this will be a three pipe problem. Let us return to Baker Street."

Holmes hailed a carriage, and we left the scene behind. Despite much thought, and a truly horrible quantity of shag tobacco, Holmes never did manage to solve the problem of the Christmas Eve Murder.


	26. Menorah

**Today's prompt from Aleine Skyfire: One of the characters observes Hanukkah. Who is it, and why? I'm not Jewish, so if I've gotten anything wrong, I'm terribly sorry.**

Wiggins knocked on the door of 221 Baker Street, the Irregulars clustered around him. Mrs Hudson opened the door. "If you've come to see Mr Holmes, he's out."

Wiggins didn't move. "When will he be back? We've got important news for him."

"Not that he ever tells me, but in just a few hours, I should think."

"Can we see your Christmas tree?" A little Irregular interrupted. Wiggins hastily went to shush them, but Mrs Hudson smiled. "Of course. It's a cold day, I think you could do with some time indoors, away from that wind."

The Irregulars trooped upstairs after her, gasping in awe at the beautiful Christmas tree standing proud in the corner of the room. They clustered around, admiring the dripping tinsel and shiny ornaments. All except one.

Big Sam - rather a misnomer, as she still didn't reach Mrs Hudson's shoulder - was looking around the room, brow furrowed like she was searching for something. Finally, she turned to Mrs Hudson. "Where's the menorah?"

Mrs Hudson beamed. "That's downstairs, dear. Mr Holmes and Dr Watson don't celebrate Hanukkah. That one's just for me."

"Oh." Her brow was still furrowed. "But why?"

"Why do I celebrate? That's what my family always did. When I married Robert, we celebrated both." For a moment, she looked wistful, her smile fading. "We had hoped that someday, we'd have children to... but that never happened."

Sam looked hopefully at her, biting her lip. "Can I see your menorah?"

Mrs Hudson took her by the hand, leading her back towards the stairs. "Of course, child. Let's go have a look."


	27. A Secret Hobby

**Today's prompt from I'm Nova: A secret hobby.**

Moran threaded the needle, reading himself to do repairs. Sewing was something any man should know, as far as he as concerned, and nothing to be ashamed of. An army man like himself needed to keep his equipment in perfect working order, and that required good skills with a needle.

Today, though, was not about fixing clothes. He was fixing soldiers, his companions. The ones who had always stayed with him. There had only been a few of them at first. They'd been by his side since childhood, and had stayed with him every since. He'd added on over the years, and now there was quite a number of them, all there with him to the death.

He laid the first one on the bed, examining the injury. There was a hole in his arm, one that would only get bigger if left to its own devices. He looked the soldier in the eye. "I'll need to fix this, but you're strong. You'll make it."

The soldier looked placidly back. Even as the needle entered into him, pulling the edges of the wound together, he didn't make a sound. Finally, the wound was stitched, and Moran moved on to the next.

This was a soldier he had seen many times over the years, his oldest companion. This friend had come under his needle many times before, but had carried on each time, never letting anything bring him down. He was looking older now, thinner than he used to be, more worn, but he was as steadfast a friend as ever.

Moran nodded to him, threading his needle again in preparation. This one also didn't speak, but his eyes were filled with understanding. Just as he was about to insert the needle, the telephone rang.

Only one person ever called that telephone, and only ever for one thing. Moran went to answer it immediately.

"Sir Gravesham. By three o'clock Wednesday," Moriarty's voice came over the phone line.

"Understood." Moran replied. He hung up the phone and went to retrieve his gun. On his way out, he stopped beside the bed, where the needle was still waiting to be used. "I'll come back for you later," he promised his little soldier, picking the teddy up from the bed and looking at him seriously. "This needs to be done first, but I will leave no man behind."


	28. A Wilder World

**Today's prompt from cjnwriter: Craziest AU you can think of.**

"I do say, Mr Holmes," said the little white rabbit, rising up on its hind legs. "This is not why I asked you to come here!"

The fox took no notice, slinking between the bushes, nose against the ground. It raised its head, stopped, then let out a little sneeze. "Watson!" it said, disgruntled. "You have a better nose than I. What was here?"

The black terrier came closer, lowering its head to the ground and sniffing. "Smells like otter. Only a very young one, though. Odd, otters never usually travel this far from the river."

The fox looked thoughtful. "Unless it was on the trail of something very particular."

"Mr Holmes!" The rabbit interjected again, hopping up and down with agitation. "I asked for your help with a murder investigation, not to sniff out a missing otter!"

The fox took no notice. "Watson, I believe our next step will be at the riverbank. I know a frog there who may have more information for us. And Lestrade, your murder is simple. Look for the water droplets on the wall."

The fox and terrier took off through the underbush, side by side as ever, leaving the indignantly hopping rabbit behind them.


	29. An Unexpected Journey

**Today's prompt from Sparky Dorian: An unexpected journey.**

"Well, my dear," Mrs Hudson called, being pulled along by a very hurried Mary, "this is not how I thought I would be spending my evening!"

"Quickly, Mrs Hudson!" Mary pulled the older woman around a corner and kept running, flinching as gunshots rang out behind them. "We need to get those keys back," she said, voice whipped away by the wind.

Mrs Hudson didn't need to hear her to know how important it was to retrieve the keys. That was their entire reason for being out here tonight, and how they ended up in this precarious situation.

Their race was brought to an abrupt halt by the river, and the long drop down to it, spanning across their road and leaving no place else to run. Mrs Hudson turned to look behind them, watching the light of the man chasing them draw closer and closer. "Mary," she whispered, transfixed by the sight. "I think you should know, I'm very glad you came to see Mr Holmes all those years ago." She turned to Mary, feelings of love overtaking her fear. "You've been like a daugh- what are you doing?!"

Mary, expression determined, had stepped up to the edge. "This will not be the end. We've still got a chance." With a wild leap, she jumped from the edge, skirts billowing out around her. Mrs Hudson took a moment to pray for their safety, then jumped after her.

Both of them landed in the river with a splash, struggling to stay afloat with their heavy skirts weighing them down. Their pursuer came to a halt at the edge, peering down at them, then laughed. He walked away, not noticing the boat that came up beside them.

"Help!" Mrs Hudson called, spitting out river water. "We need help!" Mary joined the cry, and together they caught the attention of a passenger on deck.

"There's two women down there!" he cried. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to throw down a life buoy, and within a few minutes, both women were standing on deck, dripping water, shivering wildly, and surrounded by a crowd of wealthy party-goers.

"Mrs Hudson? Mrs Watson?" An unexpected voice came from the crowd, and a man stepped out of the crowd and toward them.

"Mr Holmes, do you know these two ladies?" Another man asked, also stepping forward from the crowd. From his dress, he appeared to be the host of the party.

"This is my brother's landlady, and his companion's wife," Mycroft said smoothly, taking in their condition at a glance. "They appear to have been chased by a gunman this evening, likely the same man that has been robbing houses around West London, and only escaped him by jumping into the river. Very forward thinking of you, ladies."

Mary, overcoming her surprise, murmured her thanks.

"Of course, after such a stressful evening, I should escort them home," Mycroft continued. "If you'll excuse me, your Grace?" He addressed this to the host, who waved his hand obligingly, still looking rather confused.

Mrs Hudson and Mary were similarly confused, but followed Mycroft off the boat once it had docked, and into a nearby wet dresses were quite uncomfortable by this time, and they were keen to return home and change into something else - once the essential keys had been retrieved.

"I thought you didn't like parties, Mr Holmes?" Mary ventured, in an attempt to break the awkwardness of the silent carriage.

"There are some invitation that, for the sake of diplomacy, are impossible to refuse, however unpleasant." Mycroft gave a delicate shudder, one almost unsuited to his great girth. "Now, ladies. What was the item that you were trying to retrieve when the thief began chasing you?"

The two women looked at each other, shocked. "A set of keys," Mrs Hudson finally replied.

"Of course. Then I shall send someone to retrieve it for you."

They just nodded. The rest of the drive to Baker Street was silent, as they worried about the keys, and tried to ignore how their dresses were clinging uncomfortably.

Next morning, the keys were sitting on the kitchen counter.


	30. Coldest Night Ever

**Today's prompt from cjnwriter: Record-setting low temperatures.**

"It's f-f-f-freezing!" Wayne's teeth chattered loudly as he huddled into his tattered coat. "I ain't ever seen a winter this cold before!"

"Me neither, and I'm older than you!" Big Sam said, wrapping her arms around herself in a feeble attempt to keep warm.

"We're almost there," Wiggins said, bravely striving forward against the freezing winds. "Then we can go home, out of the wind."

The Irregulars nodded gloomily. For some of them, they didn't have much of a home to go back to - this trip would be the warmest they were going to get.

They reached Baker Street, and Wiggins knocked on the door. Mrs Hudson opened it and ushered them inside. "Goodness, you must be freezing out there! Come on in, children. Go sit by the fire upstairs, it's warmer in there."

The Irregulars went upstairs. Opening the upstairs room, each one of them let out a sigh of relief as they crossed the threshold into the warm and cosy room.

"There's plenty of room by the fire," Watson advised them, smiling brightly enough to warm the room himself. "You can sit there and rest for a minute."

They sat down, apart from Wiggins, who went over to Holmes to report their findings. Even he, though, was affected by the cosy room, as his eyes blinked more and more frequently, trying to stay open.

"Sit down, Wiggins," Holmes finally told him. "I may need you in the morning, so you and your band should spend the night here."

Wiggins nodded, and sat by the fire, completely missing the fond look Watson gave Holmes behind his back. Amongst the huddled pile of warm bodies, with the fire crackling merrily in the background, Wiggins finally gave in, and fell asleep.


	31. End of an Era

**Today's prompt from Aleine Skyfire: The end of an era.**

 **A 221B to finish off the 2016 challenge. I wish all of you a happy New Year, filled with many stories and joy!**

"It's been a long time, my dear friend, hasn't it?" Holmes remarked, looking fondly at Watson, in a way he would have thought unthinkable when they first met. Now, though, as an older and wiser man, he did not bother to hide how much their friendship meant to him, especially on an occasion such as this.

Watson returned the look, feeling his own wave of affection for his oldest and dearest friend. "It certainly has. I just wish it had been a happier event that brought us back together again."

Their gazes travelled over to the church, where a large crowd were already gathering for the funeral. Some were crying, while some just stood there stoically; others just seemed happy to catch up with their old friends who were also attending.

"He lived a good life," Watson continued, eyes still on the gathering. "His death will be a loss to the whole of London. So many people have reason to be grateful for his efforts. I must confess, however," he continued, turning to Holmes with a wistful smile, "that what I will always be most grateful for, is that he introduced me to you."

Holmes and Watson joined arms, and walked into Stamford's funeral together. For this man, who had introduced them many decades earlier, they would always count themselves blessed.


End file.
